


The Sage Family Legacy

by chemiclord



Category: The Uniques (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Uniques Fanfic Contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemiclord/pseuds/chemiclord
Summary: Hope Sage always had a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time.  Little did she know that she got it from her daddy...
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	The Sage Family Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> I am not inclined to consider this officially part of the contest, as this is the result of something that I had discussed with Comfort and Adam personally on a couple of occasions, and as such it doesn't seem particularly fair for it to be considered for the winner's circle. That said, it IS something that I've been looking for a reason to show off, and this is as good of a reason as any to show our creators and audience the fruits of our chattering.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

It wasn't often that Jim Gavin arrived made an appearance as himself, rather than Virtue, and it felt more out of place each time he did. At this point in his life, civilian clothes were starting to feel like the costume, and he felt far more comfortable in his heroic guise.

But judging from Nikki's call, Hope didn't need a superhero right now. He wasn't sure exactly _why_ , but apparently it was something absolutely mortifying to the point that Hope had barricaded herself in her room, and refused to come out even for dinner.

 _That's_ how he knew something was wrong. If Hope missed a meal, she was either dead or dying.

He finally rang the doorbell, and Nikki answered, her face a mixture of humor and concern. “She's upstairs,” she said, jerking her right thumb over her right shoulder, then stepping aside to let Jim enter. “I trust you know the way at this point.”

He did. Even before it had been Hope's room, he knew the way. “So, will you tell me what this is about now?”

Nikki shook her head, and Jim could see she was trying to contain laughter. “I... think it would be best to hear it from Hope.”

He frowned at the refusal, but said nothing further. He passed the junction between the entry and dining rooms, where he could see Katie, Scout, and the two other boys, sitting at a table and quietly giggling.

“I could ride you...” the smaller ruffian mumbled, causing the volume of the giggling to raise.

Jim figured it would probably be a good idea to learn and remember their names, because continuing to think of them as “ruffians” seemed awfully rude considering they appeared to have Hope's trust, and he was supposed to be respecting her decisions more.

Scout thrust out his hand, and said while chortling, “No... it'd be better from behind...”

At that point all four of them erupted into laughter, and Jim's eyebrows raised. He assumed there was a story to be told, and that it probably was related to why Hope was holding herself in seclusion.

He pressed on, his left hand catching the knob at the end of the railing to the stairs, his palm following the rail as he slowly navigated the past the second floor, then the third. As he made the final turn to the fourth floor, he found the last member of Hope's team, Michael, leaning against the wall just to the left of the landing, his wings tucked tightly behind him, eyes fixed forlornly on Hope's closed bedroom door.

Michael seemed to be a good kid by every account he heard, but Jim wasn't about to forget that he came from the more... fanatical part of the Collins family tree; and he still wasn't entirely convinced that it was sheer coincidence that Michael's path just _happened_ to cross Hope's.

But that wasn't here nor there at the moment. “Michael,” Jim said with a nod in greeting.

“Sir,” the winged man said respectfully with a nod of his own.

Jim gestured with a thumb in the direction of Hope's door. “Any idea what this is about?”

Michael shook his head. “No,” he answered sadly, “Everything seemed normal until about an hour ago. I offered to fly a new satellite reception dish up to the roof, and by the time I came back, Hope had barricaded herself in her room, and said she _especially_ didn't want to talk to me.”

The winged man looked up at Jim, distraught. “Do... do you think I did something wrong, sir?”

Jim shrugged. “I have no idea, kid. That's what I'm trying to find out. How about you head downstairs, and I'll take over from here, okay?”

Michael nodded in deference to the older man, retreating – if slowly – from the scene. Once the winged man had made the turn to the second floor, Jim pressed on to the end of the hall, where the deep brown stained door of Hope's bedroom waited.

He knocked quietly, and said as gently as his large lungs could muster, “Hope... sweetie. It's me. Can I come in?”

There wasn't a response from the other side, at least not immediately. Jim resisted the urge to call out again; he knew that Hope heard him. If she was going to do anything about that, further cajoling wasn't going to help.

Finally, he heard the locking mechanism tumble, and the door cracked open. Jim stuck his head inside, and found Hope in the center of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her head down between them.

He took a brief moment to reach the conclusion that she had unlocked and opened the door using just her telekinesis, which was rather impressive considering her own mother hadn't been able to refine _that_ sort of finesse until she had been in her twenties. Her father never really did, at least not reliably.

The young woman hadn't even looked up to acknowledge Jim's presence. Whatever happened _really_ knocked her for a loop.

He gently sat down at the end of the bed, and put his left arm over her shoulders. “What happened, Hope?”

The psion didn't answer immediately, instead sobbing quietly. “It's so stupid,” She finally whimpered almost a minute later, “But it was _so_ humiliating.”

“What was? I can't help if I don't know what happened.”

“No one else told you the whole embarrassing story?” She asked, her voice dripping with disbelief.

“No,” he answered as earnestly as he could. “They could tell whatever it was upset you, and as a result wanted you to tell me.” That... was _mostly_ true.

Perhaps.

“I... had a new satellite dish purchased for the mansion. It seemed like a simple enough transaction, until we discovered that apparently, the company _didn't_ do installation.”

Jim nodded, even though Hope probably didn't see the gesture.

She continued anyway. “We were considering ways to get it up to the roof and installed, because it turns out we didn't have a ladder that long. Michael offered to fly it up there himself and put it together. I didn't even think that was possible. We're talking about a pretty heavy box, after all.”

“Okay...” He encouraged, patting her on the shoulder.

“But he was certain he could do it, and that began a discussion among the whole team of just how much weight Michael could hold and still fly. Turns out, he was used to that sort of thing; his family would frequently have him move stuff around for their compound.”

Then Hope choked down a humiliated sob before she was able to continue, “Then... at the end of it, I said, and I quote, 'Wow, so you're saying I could _ride you_.' ”

Jim blinked, momentarily wondering how that was so terrible until he processed the unintentional double entendre. “Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhhh...”

He paused to compose his next words, trying to keep _any_ humor out of his voice. “And... what did Michael do then?”

She grunted. “Made it worse.” Then she finally lifted her head and corrected, “But... not intentionally. _He_ was the only one who actually took what I said at face value. His response was, and again, I quote, 'That would be an uncomfortable position for me, I fear. It'd probably be better if I _grabbed you from behind_.' ”

Oh dear. “I... see. Is that why you didn't want to talk to Michael before I got here?”

She shrugged, “Kinda. But again, it's not his fault. In the last month, I've already offered to do him cowgirl and invited him to ogle my chest _on accident_ . I'm a little scared of what I might say _on purpose_ right now.”

Jim tried. He really, really tried. But he couldn't fight back the small chuckle that escaped his throat.

In response, Hope wailed in dismay, and buried her face between her legs again. “Oh God... you too?”

He immediately tried to apologize, “I'm sor...”

She didn't let him get it out. “The rest of those assho... _wonderful people_... waited until Michael was out the door, then they burst out laughing like hyenas. All of them. Even Katie and Nikki. It was mortifying, Uncle Jimmy! I humiliated myself in front of my own team!”

This must be a teenager thing, Jim decided, and he needed to remind himself that despite her appearances, Hope was closer to her early teens in emotional development. “Hope, I understand that you're embarrassed, but once you start to decompress, I think you'll discover this isn't as big of a deal as you think it is.”

“You don't understand!” She howled, “How the hell are my teammates going to respect me if they can't even take me seriously?”

And that cut to the heart of it, Jim realized, and that he should have given Hope a little more credit than he had. Of _course_ she had a reason for her fugue beyond mere adolescent shame. Fortunately, Jim decided he might just have what Hope needed to hear.

He patted her shoulder, then gave her a friendly squeeze. “Hope, sweetie, let me tell you a story about your father. This takes place shortly after the last reformation of the League of Seven, and we were 'encouraged' to band together under one roof for the sake of 'team building.' Now, your father had been absolutely _taken_ with your mother almost immediately. It wasn't hard to see why; she was a stunning, intelligent, capable, independent, remarkable woman in _every_ regard. But your father... oh, sweetie, _your father_...”

* * *

Eva cracked open the back door of their new home, scanning the parlor for anyone who could be of assistance, and immediately found Jim and John lounging and nursing a couple of beers while the halftime show continued.

“Hey,” she said, “Kinetic and I just got back from the store. Want to help us unload?”

Jim gestured at John, and said, “Yeah, we've got a few minutes, right?” The Lions and Bears had been a travesty so far, befitting two teams at the ass-end of the league. Jim wasn't going to shed any tears if he missed a few minutes of that slog of a game.

John verbally agreed quickly enough, though his lethargy getting out of the chair didn't reflect that enthusiasm. But that changed once he got outside, and saw Sue leaning into the van, and he saw an opportunity to be her ever so slight Hero for the Day. He jogged across the driveway, closing the distance just as Sue emerged with two watermelons tucked under each arm.

And John happily offered, “Sue! Here, let me hold your melons and you can get the rest!”

Then came that moment just a beat later where John realized what he had said, and the mortified paralysis that followed.

Eva turned her head away, her lips pursed tightly as she muttered, “Christ...” then turned entirely so that no one could see her trying to hold her laughter so hard that her eyes started watering.

Jim ran his right hand through his hair, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing as Sue leveled such a withering stare at John that it felt like the man shrank three feet.

She finally said tersely, “I think I can handle it, thank you.” Then she snatched three more bags with her mental powers. “I'm sure you can grab the wieners, however.”

Sue didn't even look back as John attempted to stammer an apology, nor did she give any sign that an apology would even be accepted.

Jim started chuckling so violently that his chest was shaking, finally dropping his elbow on his dejected friend's shoulder. He tried to think of _something_ to say, but at the end the only think that came out was a mirthful, “John.”

“I don't want to hear it,” John said flatly, very plainly disappointed in himself. “Not from you. Not from anyone.”

Jim just couldn't get anything more to pass his lips. “ _John_.”

* * *

Hope had once again raised her head, her expression incredulous, the tears at least momentarily forgotten. “ _Dad_ ... said _that_ ... to _Mom?_ ”

Jim laughed heartily, “Oh yes... and that wasn't even the _last_ time he opened his mouth, and inserted his foot, in your mother's presence. Gosh, it wasn't even three months later when...”

* * *

Bobby was a rather odd cookie... even in relation to the odd personalities that made up the League of Seven. So hearing him burst through the door from the ground floor shouting repeatedly wasn't even mild cause for alarm to Jim and John in the game room on the second floor.

If they weren't intimately aware of how fast Bobby could run, they would have thought he sprinted up the stairs, stopping only at the landing to secure his treasures that looked like they were about to fall from his grasp.

“I found them!” Bobby exclaimed, disrupting John's shot to the point that he missed his target by half the dartboard. Jim gave a victorious fist pump, and John spun towards the speedster, who was at the entertainment center, his back to them.

“What the hell was so amazing to find that you had to make all this noise?” John asked exasperatedly.

Bobby stepped aside, turned and flourished towards his makeshift display. “This! I found _all_ of them!”

“Them” was referring to a line of seven soda cans sitting on top of the TV stand, and Jim quickly identified what they were.

Pepsi Cola had made a big deal of running a commemorative set of cans over the last month, featuring the League of Seven, encouraging consumers at every opportunity to “collect them all.” What Pepsi _didn't_ say was that some of the cans were _considerably_ more rare than the others, and in fact denied that was the case entirely.

Bobby's efforts to complete the set would suggest differently, as would the _fourteen_ bags of Pepsi Cola waiting in the recycling bin. But it would appear that the speedster's efforts had finally paid off, as the can with Virtue's likeness across the side now appeared with the other six that Bobby had squirreled away.

Jim had to admit they were very well designed, with likenesses that were exquisitely detailed. John agreed, getting up close to really study the artwork.

“Ya know... those _are_ some pretty sweet cans!”

Then what he said hit him like a hammer when all three men acknowledged Sue's presence. She had been climbing the stairs at the most inopportune moment, so that her chest was eye level with a hunched over John. She was _also_ dressed for her daily workout, which meant that said chest wasn't leaving terribly much to the imagination.

His eyes bulged in dismay as Sue glared daggers at him. If looks could kill, Sue would have murdered John, then brought him back to life just to murder him again. Finally, she sighed heavily in exasperation, and shook her head in disgust as she resumed her trek to the training room down the hall.

“No! Sue!” John protested frantically as she refused to even acknowledge his existence. “Sue! No! I was... I was talking about...”

She slammed the training room door violently behind her, the crack resounding through Jim's ears, the noise prompting John to slump in total, miserable defeat.

Bobby went boneless, slumping to the floor and laughing loudly, crossing his arms over his stomach as he howled. “Holy _shit!_ I can't believe... that was _too perfect!_ ”

Jim had gone as far as to bite his own knuckles to keep from laughing, trying _not_ to damage his friend's psyche any more than it already was. Nonetheless, he couldn't help himself from betraying a guffaw and a simple, “ _John_.”

* * *

Hope's jaw dropped. “I... I can't _imagine_ Mom putting up with that.”

Jim took a breath, and cracked a small smile. “Well, to be fair, your mother wasn't _nearly_ as offended by your father's various faux pas as she pretended to be. Truthfully, she was rather flattered that she flustered him that much. Which was fortunate because that was just the _beginning_. I and your Uncle Bobby could tell you _so_ many stories just like that one.”

He tightened his arm around her shoulders slightly to offer a one armed hug. “Point is, Hope, you're really just carrying on the Sage family legacy here. And no one on _his_ team thought any less of him for the many handfuls of times he stepped in it.”

Hope mused on this, and hummed thoughtfully.

“Besides,” Jim continued, “I'd say it's actually a _good_ sign that your team was able to laugh at the situation in your presence. And yes, now that I know what happened, I think it's safe to say they were laughing at the situation, not so much at you.”

“You think so?” the young woman asked hopefully.

“I do. See, they were comfortable enough in your presence that they could laugh at such a silly exchange, not at all worried that you'd lash out at them. They aren't afraid of you... and that's a very good thing indeed. It's _far_ too easy and far too convenient to lead through fear, even in 'free' countries like ours. I'd actually be concerned if they _weren't_ willing to express themselves around you.”

He wasn't sure if Hope was really being convinced, or if she was more _wanting_ to be convinced. But she put on a brave enough face when she said with a heavy breath, “You might be right. I _know_ I'm overreacting a little, after all. But, God, could my trials be a little less personally humiliating?”

Jim finally moved his arm and said with a small laugh. “Afraid not... you've clearly inherited your father's mouth.”

Hope groaned in dismay, “Ugh.”

“I guess if you have to get hung up on somebody, I suppose Michael is easy enough on the eyes.”

Hope groaned again, this time in embarrassment. “Please, Uncle Jimmy... _don't_ go there...”

He shrugged, “Well, I observed that the only times your father's brain got that twisted up on itself was around your mother. So, you're saying you _don't_ like him?”

Hope shook her head. “Michael's not ugly, by any means, and he seems sweet enough, but we've only known each other for about two months. That's not _nearly_ enough time to be gauging affection.”

Jim exhaled in relief, “Thank _God_ you also inherited your mother's sensibilities.”

He didn't need to deal with that sort of drama around Hope any time soon.


End file.
